


How to Deal: The Tony Stark Approach

by Anonymous



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:01:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2282739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avengerkink prompt: "I haven't cried since I was eleven and dear ol'dad beat me with a liquor bottle for it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Deal: The Tony Stark Approach

**Author's Note:**

> the prompt - - http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/6021.html?thread=8395653#t8395653  
> And this doesn't do the prompt justice at all, so sorry about that, everyone. I don't mean to undermine the severity of child/emotional abuse here, but Tony tends to downplay just about everything related to himself.   
> Also, I have no beta and I'm very sorry/personally responsible for all mistakes you find.  
> And, warning: there are spoilers for the movie.

The problem with superheroes- with being a superhero, thank you very much- is that people expect you to spring back from anything. Tony's not sure if it's a mutation common to demi-gods, super-humans, and whatever the hell S.H.I.E.L.D. agents really are. All he knows is that every other Avenger had the insane ability to transition directly from saving the world to saving far too many episodes of _Say Yes to the Dress_ on Tony's DVR.

Tony actually thought he was good at compartmentalizing. He figured it was a sign of his adaptability, being able to consistently brush off kidnapping, aliens covering the streets of New York, and torture in favor of food. Or, he had thought that. Then he found out Thor had brushed off the whole stabbing/world domination thing and was already freaky, Asgardian pen-pals with Loki. The guy's resilience put roaches to shame.

Tony could banter with the bad guys. He'd even laugh in the face of their death threats. He could not, however, read off every twitter update they posted and then laugh loudly enough to induce small-scale oscillations in state-of-the-art skyscrapers.

So, if that's what people were going to start expecting from Tony Stark, then they were in for disappointment. Tony needed at least a week, alone with his machines and his workshop, to recover from nearly dying, galaxies away from home. It was how he dealt with Afghanistan, and it was a hell of a lot safer than how he dealt with the Palladium poisoning. Working himself half to death was actually one of Tony's better survival mechanisms.

That's why, when Tony said he wouldn't attend Coulson's posthumous award service, Pepper didn't say a word. Things may not have worked out between them, but she usually understood what he needed. Even when she didn't, she knew him well enough to accept it.

Captain America did not.

He managed to corner Tony upstairs on a coffee run. Tony grudgingly accepted the fact that he was at a serious tactical disadvantage. Steve had him under-caffeinated and sleep-deprived, far away from anything sufficiently distracting. Tony couldn't be sure what time it was, but Steve was dressed in pressed slacks, and the rest of the team was nowhere to be seen.

And also, Steve had a terrible little frown on his face. It was the sort of thing that you'd call a pout on anyone not 80% muscle mass. Tony could have pretended to misunderstand the pleading looks Steve kept shooting at him. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and willed the coffee to drip faster. He didn't know how Steve had timed his ambush so well, but neither of them spoke while the machine worked. At first, Tony thought Steve was going to pout for a little bit and then send Tony on his way. When he turned to leave, though, Steve blocked the door with his entire body, a cocked eyebrow, and more silence

Tony glared at him, exasperated. The whole “silent disapproval” bit was old news and outright insulting. If Steve wanted to make Tony feel bad for anything he did, then there'd have to be an opus involved.

Still, Tony started to get antsy, waiting for Steve to talk. He wasn't good with uncomfortable silences, and it burnt, knowing that Steve had counted on that. He considered waiting Steve out, but he didn't know when Coulson's service was supposed to start and there was the very real possibility of Tony _dying by silence_ before then.

"I'm not going," Tony said, anxiety winning out over stubbornness.

Steve sighed. "I know you thought Agent Coulson was a good man.”

"I never said that. And even if I did, I don't do funerals if I can help it."

"It's not a funeral. It's a posthumous-"

"Cap, spare me the details. It all amounts to the same thing. With my luck, there won't even be an open bar."

Steve visibly fought down irritation at that. It was a bad sign that the comment didn't make him leave, right off the bat. Clearly, Tony needed to work on irritating him; making people storm out of the room in a righteous fury not only let Tony end, but win at, conversations. But Steve didn't stomp off, cursing Tony's existence. He stood there in all his quiet, patient glory, so Tony cleared his throat and tried again.

"Listen, Fury will talk for an hour and everyone'll stand around crying on someone else's shoulder. Personally, I'd prefer to finish these upgrades to the Mark VII before something blows up, for once. Actually, I'd prefer anything that doesn't involve listening to Fury talk, but upgrades are all I've got on the agenda for tonight."

Steve made a face like someone had punched him. Or, punched someone right next to him. Really, if someone punched Steve, they had a hell of a lot more to worry about than that compelling, pathetic look.

"Sometimes it's okay for people to cry, Stark."

Steve said it in such a quiet, earnest way that Tony actually tried not to scoff at him. "I haven't cried since I was eleven," Tony said. He could feel a conversation about feelings coming on, so he ducked around Steve and started down the staircase. "And dear ol' dad beat me with a liquor bottle for that one. So, thanks for the attempt at team-building or-"

Steve barreled down the stairs after Tony. "He- what? Howard..." Tony ignored the way Steve stumbled over condemnation and sympathy. He could hear the quiet anger in Steve's voice, and he wasn't above taking advantage of a distraction when it was presented to him.

Tony punched in his code to the door and turned around long enough to point at Steve. "I'm going inside to work on my armor, and I'm not coming out for anything." Steve's eyes darted to the door. With reflexes that Tony would never be able to match, he grabbed for the handle and held the door shut, pinning Tony between Steve's chest and the glass.

”Really?” Tony asked, feigning disinterest. Steve had a desperate look to him, and Tony could hear the demand for explanation already. Worse, Tony was trapped, and he couldn't stop the way panic bubbled up in his chest at that. “You're going to hold me captive for _all_ of the service? I'm tricky, Rogers. I don't think you'll be able to bow your head respectfully if you're looking out for me the whole time.”

"St- Tony. I only want to understand. About your dad.”

Tony exhaled and waved the request away. "There's nothing to understand. I was a stupid kid, and Howard was a shitty drunk. I know you and him were old war buddies, or whatever, so don't worry about it. I sure as hell don't." Tony hoped that Steve wouldn't notice the way he pressed himself back towards the glass, trying to give himself a bit more space.

"I'm not 'buddies' with bullies, especially ones that-" Steve cut himself off and lowered his voice. He still looked furious, but Tony could hear the pity in his voice. "What he did wasn't fair. We're teammates now, and I _am_ going to worry about anything that's hurting you."

And that presumption- the thought that Steve even had the right to make Tony's business his own- was enough to put Tony on the offensive. He stepped forward, pushing back at Steve until they were chest-to-chest. "The whole team thing is a joke. You know that, right? The fact that some ass with an eye patch says we're teammates doesn't suddenly make you my friend, Steve. And- hey- maybe that's why I wasn't actually supposed to be on this team, but I'm not going to let you play therapist so that we can all look nice marching in the sunshine."

Steve was close enough that Tony could feel how hard he was breathing. "That's not what I-" Steve took a deep breath, then stepped back and scrubbed a hand across his face. He stared at Tony, blue eyes impossibly sad. "I guess I understand if you want to keep that to yourself, but don't discount 'the team thing' so easily."

Tony didn't have anything to say that. It seemed like a trap, Steve offering to drop the subject. Suspicion must have shown on his face, because Steve sighed and turned back up the stairs. “You have friends, Tony. Even if you won't come to the service, I'll still be here when you figure that out."

Tony was used to disengaging; that wasn't the problem. Usually, he was the one to push someone else so far that they didn't want to stand in front of him a second longer. The fact that Steve dropped the argument entirely was baffling.

"If you would prefer to attend the service, I can put the Mark VIII prototype into production," Jarvis offered, when Steve had completely disappeared up the stairs and Tony still hadn't figured out how to look away.

It was enough to snap Tony's mind back to his work. "No," he said. Not even Captain Micromanagement could make Tony Stark attend another funeral. "But, let me know when they all get back from the... thing." 

"Of course, sir." Tony disappeared back into the workshop, after that.

\---

Jarvis told Tony that the Avengers had returned to the tower, and for a second, Tony wanted to pretend he didn't know. He was sure if he pored over those blueprints for a second longer he would figure out what was missing, and he didn't want to talk to anyone else. Steve's quiet acquiescence, though, was enough to get him back up the stairs. He didn't want to be the person that was enough of a lost cause to make even Captain America give up.

Tony tossed a takeout menu onto the coffee table and sat on the couch while he waited for the others. He was the living embodiment of "artfully casual," even if Jarvis did insist that, "feigning distraction with your mobile device has never fooled Ms. Potts either, sir." To spite him, Tony didn't even look up from toggling the brightness settings on his phone when the elevator door opened. 

There was a moment of silence when everyone stepped into the living room. Tony assumed there was some kind of exaggerated double-take involved in that, but, again, he couldn't be torn from his _extremely distracting_ brightness settings. Natasha was the first to recover.

"Baby models is about to come on, isn't it?" she asked, flopping down into a chair across from Tony. "Clint? Are you going to bet me on the most desperate mother?"

Clint propped himself up against the arm of the chair and smirked- it was a weak, red-eyed smirk, but no one was going to call him on that. "Really? I don't see why you bother."

And Natasha said, "Oh?" in that frightening way that _only she_ could manage. Clint, the fearless idiot that he was, actually took that to be an invitation to keep talking. Even Tony could control himself better than that. "Yeah, I'm always gonna be better at spotting the craziest woman in the room, 'Tash. Obviously, you can't spot her if you're already-"

Bruce interrupted before Clint could get much further. "I know you don't mind getting strangled in the living room," he said. Weariness practically rolled off of him, and he sank into the couch next to Tony. "But it's actually really stressful to watch."

Thor, of course, was the first one to notice the menu Tony had left on the table. "Good!" he boomed, going from somber to overjoyed in seconds. "If we send for 'Thai Palace' now, we will be able to feast while cheering on our contestant of choice." 

"Buddy, let's stick to one at a time," Tony cut in smoothly. They already had enough trouble with all the blood that got ground into the carpet. He really didn't think spewing noodles all over the place would help matters. Tony twisted around in the couch to look at Steve. "You want anything?"

Steve startled. He seemed to finally realize that he was halfway in the elevator and stepped out of it completely. Then, he looked around like the living room was completely foreign to him, which was just ridiculous. He was the one who'd told Tony to come out and play with the big kids; the least he could do was facilitate, a little bit. Tony rolled his eyes. "U.S.S. Stark to Captain Rogers: are you, or are you not, going to eat curry with the rest of the team?"

The look Steve gave Tony- pleasantly surprised and _proud_ , of all things- was enough to make Tony duck his head back down and tap furiously at his phone. "I'll go ahead and place the order," he muttered, by way of explanation. The sudden knowledge that, for that kind of response, Tony would be willing to give up a lot more than a couple hours of workshop time didn't help his mood much. Tony didn't like the way Steve could loosen all that anxiety curled up in his chest without saying a word. There weren't enough upgrades and elements in the world to keep Tony busy if he let himself linger too long on that, so Tony clung to his last, knotted-up defense and ordered enough Thai food to feed a battalion.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god, I know. This is not a fair response to the prompt at all. In my head, Steve was just way too understanding. At some point, I might try to go back and add a slashier/angstier follow-up, but I seriously hope someone else fills this for you, OP.


End file.
